


Imagine, A Peridot Owning A Pearl

by smut_buddies



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: F/F, Fingering, Implied Past Non/Dub-Con, Massage, POV Second Person, Submission Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-18 00:35:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5891206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smut_buddies/pseuds/smut_buddies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She had laughed, and you’d swatted her away indignantly, but the thought had stuck in both your heads. It’s been a long time since anyone gave you orders.</p>
<p>Maybe you miss it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imagine, A Peridot Owning A Pearl

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a little mess of submission-kink Pearl and touch-starved Peridot headcanons. Cheers to the other smut buddy for being very into it and getting me to actually finish.

You can tell she likes the idea of owning you. Ever since she first said that you could belong to her, she’d begun to orient herself ever-so-slightly above you. It comes out constantly in all her little actions, how even when she doesn’t delegate her messes to you, she leaves them for you to find. When she divides work on the drill, she takes all the trickier tasks, the high-end engineering, and she leaves all of the basest construction work to you.

It irritates you. It absolutely grates because you have spent thousands of years carefully guarding the fragile sprout of your self-worth, and it should take more than one tiny technician to get under your skin, but you know it won’t. Every single off-hand way Peridot refers to you as _lesser_ makes your teeth grind and your fingers twitch and you long to retaliate.

And one day she comes out and says it; one day you watch as her screwdriver slips through her fingers and falls all the way from her position at the drill’s control panel to the earth two meters below. Your eyes meet hers and you don’t move because you hate that she expects you to. And she says, “Pearl, bring that back up to me.” She says it offhand and with the confidence that you’ll obey, and she doesn’t even wait to see if you’re going to obey before she turns back to her work.

You expect to feel anger. You wait to feel anger. Instead, there is a little thrill of electricity through the very back of your mind, something sparking for the first time in centuries. You’ve been given an order and there is a part of you that was built for this and aches to bend and obey.

Peridot doesn’t say anything when you hand her the screwdriver, but you can see the satisfaction in her eyes, and you know that something has begun. You just want to see what.

The next day when the two of you go out to work on the drill, you see her look at her toolbox and then walk past it, climbing up to her seat atop the machine. Not a minute later, she calls, “Pearl, bring me my tools.” Perhaps she’s testing the waters, seeing if yesterday was a fluke or if you’re actually willing to go along with what she wants.

Part of you still wants to tell her that you are not a slave, and she can get it herself. Most of you has just missed this so keenly, you couldn’t say a word to stop it. Rose never let you serve her like you wanted to, and the little current in the back of your mind has gone unfed for so long. You carry the toolbox up to Peridot, and you dip your head respectfully when you hand it over. She doesn’t say a word, just flicks one hand in dismissal, and the most unsettling sense of satisfaction sweeps through you.

Her commands are near-constant after that, an endless stream of petty orders issued for you to fulfil. She has slipped into the role of a superior so easily, you have to wonder if she’s always thought highly of herself, or if it’s retaliation against those above her filtered down to you. You don’t care. Gracefully, efficiently meeting every single demand makes your chest feel full and heavy with a purpose you haven’t held in too long. Sometimes, she even thanks you before sending you away with a new task, and your cheeks flush with pride.

It occurs to you that it could be dangerous to play with your status like this, but those thoughts are the kind that are going to shut down something you _need_ and so you ignore them. Rose had understood you, and it had hurt her heart; Garnet and Amethyst would be disgusted, are almost disgusted now when they see you carrying out Peridot’s commands.

“Make her get it herself,” Amethyst yells when she sees you ferrying things over to Peridot.

“You shouldn’t let her think she’s in charge,” Garnet warns, when you take over a duty Peridot has gotten tired of.

“It’s fine,” you tell them both. “Arguing with her would slow us down – this is the most efficient way to get things done.”

They’re dissatisfied, but they leave you alone. When Peridot stays to work late, so do you, waiting poised behind her while she plays with the intricate insides of the drill’s engine. It’s work that you could do, if asked, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t make the mistakes you would have, either, she was born to do this instead of merely adapting, and she takes shortcuts you don’t know, bending wires to her will, natural inclination and millennia of practice elegantly solving the problem before her. For the first time, she actually _feels_ superior to you, like it’s a position she belongs in and not one you’re just letting her play at, and you stew the feeling slowly, wondering where you need to draw the line to protect yourself from falling back into very old patterns.

When she finally lifts her googles and rubs her eyes, she seems surprised that you’re still there, a small reminder that she’s not used to having attendants. “Pearl,” she says, like she’s trying to work out if there’s anything for you to do. There isn’t, you’ve hit the day’s milestones, and you already cleaned up everything except the tools in her hands. But she’s still considering, and a little hope for what might be next begins to stir in you.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” you ask, and you’d never dare to court commands like this if Garnet or Amethyst were near, but they aren’t. You feel desperate and obvious, but eagerness eclipses them both.

“Yes,” Peridot says slowly, and there’s a flicker of hesitance in her voice that you haven’t heard before, a falter that makes your heart sink because you liked her confident and her uncertainty is like swallowing an ice cube. But she makes her decision, and her voice is imperial when she tells you, “You will help me relax. That is part of a pearl’s duties, correct?”

“Correct,” you murmur, lost heat rushing back to you. You help her down from the drill and tidy the last of the tools away, feeling almost light-headed with excitement. You don’t know what Peridot might think a pearl’s duties really extend to, but you know it’s the first time anyone’s really asked you to _give_. Rose refused your offers over and over again, but Peridot has issued an order and you’re positively giddy. All your hopes are realised when she veers away from the path to the house, leading you upstairs in the barn. A rare piece of privacy, and your fingers intertwine restlessly.

Steven took an air mattress up into the loft, since Peridot was spending so much time bending her back into odd shapes in front of the television, and Peridot settles on it, while you sink to your knees automatically before her. “Relaxation,” Peridot says, sounding the word out. You realise that she’s familiar, perhaps, with the concept, but not so sure of the execution. Everything in you simmers with the desire to show her, to please. “How would one usually begin to relax?”

You’d rather she tell you, but you’re not going to be ungrateful for this. “Perhaps,” you suggest, as lightly as you can, “with a massage?”

She narrows her eyes, and you don’t want to hear that she doesn’t know what that is either, but she just says, “Very well,” and looks to you expectantly.

You move to sit behind her on the air mattress, sensing her hesitation once again as you leave her immediate vision, but you hope that will pass as you show her what she actually asked for. Gently, you press your fingertips against her shoulders, feel the stiffness and tension in them, and, hoping that you still remember how, you start to rub.

“Please let me know if anything feels uncomfortable,” you tell her automatically, old words coming back to you, and you’re pleased that muscle memory seems to be working in your favour, even though your current set of muscles have absolutely no memory of doing this.

She makes a little warning chirp in reply, much lighter than the replies you used to get, but you’ll take it. You work on her shoulders and her back, trying to ease her into the idea of a massage before you begin to take your hands lower. “If you lie down,” you tell her, careful to frame it as an option she has and not an instruction, “then I’ll have better access to your body.”

She lies down, on her front with her neck craning back to watch you, but you keep your face set serenely calm, the image of submission while you rub the length of her back in carefully calculated whorls. On the inside, your heart is racing because it has been so many thousands of years since you’ve touched anyone like this, and you’re beginning to get caught up in it, your world slowly shrinking down to the need to please your superior.

And Peridot seems to be pleased. She hasn’t stopped craning her neck to look at you, and there’s a quiet rumbling sound that you thought was a machine but turns out to be her poorly-vocalised indecision, her misgivings about ‘massage’ coming out in a single low-frequency wave. It’s touch, you realise, when your fingers brush her upper arms and she almost flinches. She’s not used to being touched.

Lightly, you trail your hands down her arms, not massaging so much as just feeling her, and she looks away almost guiltily, nerves flicking over her face. It’s almost enough to make you stop, and your questing fingers skitter to a halt, but she snaps, “Continue the massage, Pearl,” as soon as you do. The command curls warmly through your mind, and you continue, watching as she shudders with every little touch against her skin.

She’d had those things on – limb enhancers – to help her work and to obfuscate her real form, and you wonder if she’d ever had to take them _off_ on Homeworld, wonder how many people have seen them without. Wonder if she has ever been touched before. Probably not; what need would a Peridot have for pleasure? You’re the very first to ever serve her. Yours are the first hands on her, every touch on her skin a step on unclaimed territory, and you shiver a little yourself.

She had looked good with those limb enhancers on, though. Taller, more confident. Maybe you can make her some more.

After she’s had to tell you to continue, she seems more committed to the response. Eventually she trusts you enough to look away and you can focus on the work in front of you, on kneading her back and coaxing pleased little noises out of her. She’s touch-starved and you’re desperate to sate her, pressing and teasing every spot of tension you find. As lightly as possible, you rake your nails down her back, and she actually sighs aloud with delight.

Something between your legs throbs in response to that sound, but you bite your lip and continue. As though she finds moaning enjoyable on its own, Peridot doesn’t stop now she’s found her voice, and every new touch against her skin is a new sigh of contentment that races down your spine. It’s been too long; you can’t handle it well, fingers starting to get distracted and shaky on her skin, your focus absolutely moving from giving a good massage to making her sound as pleased as possible. There’s a new moment of tension when you begin trying to ease the muscles of her upper thigh, but she relaxes into it quickly.

She’s never had anyone but you, you think, hand hesitating over soft skin and almost shaking with desire to touch further. She won’t know what you mean when you ask, and that’s why you do it; “Would you like the full massage service?”

“Yes,” Peridot tells you, immediate and unthinking. “More of this, Pearl.”

“Absolutely,” you whisper, and dip your fingers between her legs and let them lightly skitter along the crotch of her spacesuit.

She freezes immediately and absolutely, and you wait because none of your superiors have ever reacted like that but _you_ did, the first time your attention was drawn to that part of yourself, and it only takes Peridot one shaky breath to regain her composure. It had taken you days, and you’re very proud of her as you set your hand against her and rub a little more firmly.

The suit will dampen any touch, but you’re just trying to arouse interest and it’s working fine for that. Her breathing has become just a little more shallow, and when she looks back at you, her cheeks are flushed – but she says, “ _Continue_ ,” like she’s aggravated that she has to tell you to, and you never thought you’d miss that tone but it falls on your ears so sweetly.

“Of course,” you say, except you might forget to say it out loud, you’re so busy trying to obey. The clasps of her suit seem to fall apart in your eager hands, and you somehow manage to pull the entire garment off her without pausing to marvel at every newly-revealed inch of skin. She stays on her stomach, and you think it’s a shame you don’t get to admire the little buds of her breasts, but of course, that’s not your place, you shouldn’t even think it.

Shame – or something that can pass for shame – heats your cheeks as you gently lay your fingers on the insides of her thighs and push them apart. Even in the limited slices of moonlight you get in the barn, you can see she’s gleaming, wet and waiting for you, from you, and a throb of anticipation hits you harder than you expected it to.

She’s not looking at you, her face studiously pointed at her own crossed arms before it as your fingers slowly find their way along freshly bared skin. You used to have to draw it out, but Peridot hasn’t yet given you her preferences, maybe still needs help finding them, and it’s a little bead of control you’re not sure you want to play with. You’re sure she’ll let you know if you do something she doesn’t like, but you still have to make the mistake for it to be corrected. You try to consider Peridot, her eagerness, her impatience, the almost imperceptible cant of her hips to your hand, and you conclude that she doesn’t want to wait.

It still feels too fast, when your fingers brush the very edge of her labia and she shivers. It feels like decades of posturing and power games are miserably absent, but you have to work with what you’ve got, and the very tips of your fingers edge her apart, just testing how even the lightest of touches against her slick flesh has her swallowing down a gasp of sensation. She might not have even known she wanted this an hour ago, but she wants it now, grating out, “Pearl, I told you to _continue._ ”

You wonder if she’s saying ‘Pearl’ with a capital anymore, and you drag a carefully-filed nail over her clit as lightly as you can. When Peridot fails to muffle her moan you think you echo the sound, need rekindled in you after so many years doused. The fact that this is not about you does nothing to dissuade your blood from rushing downwards.

You don’t want to be told to get on with it a third time – you would never dare be so inattentive, so lacking – so you fall into an easy pace after that, thumb making practiced circles over her clit to meet the unconscious rhythm of her hips, and your index finger running through the rest of her slit as if toying with the idea of pressing in.

Every inch of you is attuned to her, trying to feel the angle she pushes back on your hand with so you can adjust, trying to head the inaudible changes of her breath to track her excitement, watching her flush creep down her cheeks to sprawl blotchily and beautifully over her face, and you wish you could see more of her than her profile desperate against her folded her arms. Her fists are clenched hard against the giving mattress, and it strikes you that you should have found a better location, somewhere more worthy of her, somewhere draped in silks and gossamer with a bed she could sink into as deeply as she wanted.

When you finally push a finger into her it’s tantalizingly easy, and you think you have to swallow down your heart when you feel how hot and slick she is inside. She’s doing a worse job of hiding her pleasure, but you don’t think you could ever hold anything against her again, and when you add a second finger and thumb her clit, her hips actually _buck_.

If you weren’t paying attention to the throbbing between your own thighs before, you can’t ignore it after that. Your shorts are insubstantial and you’re sure you’ve soaked them through, but you don’t care. You’re wild with the need to touch yourself, but this isn’t for you. Knowing you can’t ease it makes the ache between your legs sharper and sweeter at the same time. You press your knees tighter together, as though you can possibly smother that kind of desire, and you bury your fingers up to the knuckle.

Peridot whines, and you’re so hyperaware of her every response that you notice the shift, the sudden urgency in the little twitches of her hips as she tries to direct your fingers to where she wants them to be with only hopeful angling. But you’re good at this, and you know how to read that kind of command, and your fingers press up harder inside her, your thumb angles slightly more left on her clit, circles dissolving to tight little flicks, and her whine turns into a wail.

She seems to curl in completely when she comes, her legs shutting around your hand, whole body turning in on itself as her muscles close around your fingers, rippling in time to the waves between your own legs. You don’t even feel pleasure, just the release of a taut wire snapping loose all at once, and you dare to sigh out your relief even as Peridot pants out hers.

She almost kicks you when your touch very suddenly becomes too much and she needs to be away from it, and you dodge, berating yourself for not noticing the warning hike of her hips away from your hand. Slightly out of practice, you suppose. She rolls up onto her knees and stares at you, and for a moment she’s Peridot again, earth-shy and overwhelmed, new and ignorant and nothing, and you’re not sure what to think.

But she’s a fast learner. Her face settles into something sharp so quickly that you almost didn’t notice it was anything else, and the condescending sneer she selects suits her so very well. “Adequate job, Pearl,” she says, and you wouldn’t hear the heavy sound of her breath if you weren’t listening for it. “I’m glad you’ve so readily accepted your position beneath me. I’ll be making use of your services again soon.”

You bow your head lower than Rose ever asked you to and feel your excitement cooling between your legs. “Peridot,” you murmur, transmitting as much authority in her name as she could want to hear.

She leaves the barn without you, heading back to the house on slightly-shaky legs, while you lay back on the air mattress and try to think. Sometimes you miss not having to think, but that entire line of reasoning is very dangerous, and you’re probably wreaking enough havoc on something delicate inside you as it is.

You do feel relaxed, though. For the first time in millennia.

**Author's Note:**

> btw we do have a [tumblr](http://smut-buddies.tumblr.com/) if anyone wants to?? talk to us???


End file.
